Eye
i've seen more
passion
in a blinking eye
than any words i'll ever
write
poem by Jonny Brackney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Red Light
Sitting in traffic on the Tappan Zee
Fifty million people out in front of me
Trying to cross the water but it just might be a while
Rain's coming down I can't see a thing
Radio's broken so I'm whistling
New York to Nyack feels like a hundred miles
It's not right
It's not fair
I'm still a mess
And you still don't care
I go to work
I come back home
But you're still gone
And I'm still alone
And the little red light's not blinking
No, no the little red light's not blinking
No, no the little red light's not blinking
On my big black plastic Japanese cordless phone
Oh no
Stuck in a meeting on Monday night
Trying to get the numbers to come out right
I'm getting tired, I think I just might need a drink
And as I'm reaching in the bottom drawer
I'm dreaming 'bout the way it was before
Life was so easy I never really had to think
It's not right
It's not fair
I'm still a mess
And you still don't care
I go to sleep
When I wake up
The pain sets in
And it never stops
And the little red light's not blinking
No, no the little red light's not blinking
No, no the little red light's not blinking
On the desktop mailbox of my big black laptop
Oh no
It's not right
It's not fair
I'm still a mess
And you still don't care
I go to work
I come back home
But you're still gone
And I'm still alone
And the little red light's not blinking
No, no the little red light's not blinking
No, no the little red light's not blinking
On my big black Radio Shack digital portable phone
Oh no
song performed by by Fountains Of Wayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Write
Write, keep writing lot
Write, write before you forget
Write, make it as reminder
Write, write before words disappear
Write, for you to contemplate
Write, write before your mind changed
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Write And Write And Write And Write
I WRITE AND WRITE AND WRITE AND WRITE
I write and write and write and write
I write and write and write and write
I write.
And all this writing and all these words and all I am
Forever unheard.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wrote A Poem I Could Not Write
I wrote a poem I could not write-
And then when I tried to write it again
Could not write it again -
Poems written and not written
Words and more words
What do they mean?
Paradoxes and games with words
What do they mean?
If there is Beauty in the language
It is one thing
But words just to hear themselves think,
Why should they mean ‘Remembrance'?
Oh Words oh Questions oh Darkness oh Life-
Let me write myself to the grave
Believing at least
That poems too even when they can be written
Have their small unhidden meanings.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Plastic Passion
Plastic passion is a hard to handle
Plastic passion is a sold out scandal
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is the ladies lover
Plastic passion is the marble mother
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is a diamond delight
Plastic passion is the nadir of night
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is a hycoscine heart
Plastic passion is a transparent tart
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is a gold guarantee
The plastic passion is murdering me
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hello And Goodbye
he pops out and says hello
you must know by now that
that is what he only wanted
you know what he will say
next: thank you and goodbye
he will find many excuses
a story to write, a friend to invite
a poem to read alone with him
alone admiring the smooth flow
of the words and then he disappears
for in truth he does not like the crowd
though he misses it
most of the time
he knows that he cannot be there
dissolve and be gone
he tried it once
had a drink or two then danced his way in the middle of the dancing floor
with all the lights blinking in shifting colors
he was shouting with all joy and lost himself until he fell in the same
dancing floor
his eyes will not close
they stared at the blinking lights
they thought he was dead
indeed he too thought that he cannot live anymore
he shatters in the limelight
like specks of dust scattering every bit of himself
he learns his lesson
now he makes the limits
marks the boundaries of his being
knows the fence
and the entrance and exit
he looks from a distance and then makes his sure steps
towards his own death
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For Whom Do We Write?
for whom do we write?
for us, we beg the world
to know what we are in the realm
and bounds of our words
our sadness & madness
our longing for love
unrequited our desire to
taste what passion is
that which the bed cannot
speak that which the
blankets cannot fully give in
to warmth and
lust.
for whom do we write?
we write for those passions
those explosions of suppressed
feelings long kept inside the steel
boxes of our hearts
we write for those lamentations
of love rejected and those
dreams that simply die
even before they were born
for those eggs
that never became chickens.
forgive me, but i write
because i have nothing else to do
about my life
forgive me for exposing the
truths
about us, this existential angst
lost in the labyrinths
of the empty
shell.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blinking Lights
Blinking lights on the airplane wings
Up above the trees
Blinking down a Morse code signal
'Specially for me
Ain't no rainbow in the sky
In the middle of the night
But the signal's comin' through
One day I will be alright again
Blinking lights on the higway cars
Stoppin' one by one
Get a look at the accident
Didn't see that one coming
And the doctor in the sky
Gonna bring his chopper down
Gonna bring me out alive
And set me on the ground
Once more again
Blinking lights on the airplane wings
Up above the trees
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetry Is Like A Beautiful Work Of Art
A poem has no write or
wrong,
How to write your poem
is up to you,
Visualize a perfect poem
That readers will love,
Adjust a poem as much as
you want,
Remember a poem is like
art,
You write it with meaning
and passion,
Add as much as your heart
desires,
Short or long it does not
matter,
Add a picture with your
poem,
Add a quote or a verse,
it is a poet's decision,
Always be proud of your poem,
Let the words flow when you
write,
A poem expresses a feeling,
thought and emotion,
Add a frame and hang it up
on a wall,
share your talents with the
world,
Poetry is like a beautiful
work of art.
poem by Derek James
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poet To Be
A poet I claim not to be,
For words are never there.
In all the years I've tried to write,
I have no words to share.
I sit and think but nothing comes,
No inspiration here.
I want to write of anything,
But still no words I fear.
I read the works of other poets,
I wish I were like them.
How do they write such beautiful lines,
A poet, I'm not him.
I try to write from the heart,
From deep within my soul.
I try to write of the love I have,
But cannot reach my goal.
But why I ask, why can't I write,
Of love so pure and true.
Why can't I write about her eyes,
A mix of green and blue.
I want to write about her smile,
It brightens up my day.
I try to think of anything,
But words I cannot say.
I wish I knew how to write,
A poem with such bliss.
I wish I knew how to describe,
Her soft but tender kiss.
I cannot even begin to write,
How she holds me tight.
How her arms around me,
Makes everything just right.
A poet does not have to think,
The words flow right out.
When I sit and try to write,
I want to scream and shout.
I mean come on, how hard can it be,
To write about her hair.
Such long beautiful natural blonde,
That flows in the air.
I try to write about her laugh,
The words will not fly.
Time passes and finally,
I say it's soft and high.
It's been an hour and a half,
I'm here on verse twelve.
I had to go to Rhymezone,
To find out the rhyme is shelve.
A poet does not do that,
Go online to find a rhyme.
A poet has it in his head,
And can write at any time.
But a poet I am not,
For I cannot write of love.
How the girl I am with,
Is an angel from up above.
How I love her with all my heart,
And want to spend my life with her.
How her love for me is more,
Than I can ever be for sure.
As I draw near the end,
My mind is not so numb.
I realize I've just written of love,
A poet I have become.
poem by Adam McKim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lip Service
Words inspire and words destroy
Words conspire and words annoy
Words spread freedom and words detain
Words believe them in sound refrain
Words of passion in words misleading
Words without action are words without meaning
poem by P.R. Prosper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where Is My Passion
Where is my passion
Far too much pain
Where is my passion
Must I love in vain?
Where is my passion
I need must know
Where is my passion
I want so much to grow
Where is my passion
Lost in your lips
Where is my passion
I feel for your kiss
Where is my passion
Lost in your eyes
Where is my passion
Release me to fly
Where is my passion
There in your hands
Where is my passion
Touch me…expand
Where is my passion
Please…be a man
poem by Fleurette Elaine Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Never Found the Words
When you two asked me to write a poem for you wedding I felt so honored. But now on this your wedding I must apologize for not writing your poem, I never found the words.
I never found the words
that could describe the love you see for one another
when you gaze into each others eyes.
I never found the words
that would truly embraces the warmth you feel
when you’re holding one another in your arms.
I never found the words
that would magnify the passion
of your kisses.
So once again I do apologize.
But you two must understand
when it comes to your love for one another
there is no words, and that is why I
never found the words.
Teacher Idiom Lies
sarcasm sharp bitter barb decrees
those that can do those that can't teach
but is this true no time is the dictator?
time Lords write
not by talent
passion alone
but time passion wealth
resources patronage
independent incomes write
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The things I love with a passion
I rock and roll with passion
I talk out my soul with a passion
I eat good food with passion
I defeat bad mood with a passion
I sleep well with passion
I weep hell with a passion
I dream endlessly with passion
I gleam ceaselessly with a passion
I aim for money with passion
I do the same for honey with a passion
I listen carefully with passion
I glisten dutifully with a passion
I search for fame with passion
I research to blame with a passion
I walk everyday with passion
I talk and play with a passion
I embrace life with passion
I face nightlife with a passion
I laugh out with passion
I chaffe about with a passion
I cook with others with passion
I look at mothers with a passion
I touch gently with passion
I clutch tightly with a passion
I work hard with a passion
I rock mad with a passion
I gear up goals with passion
I stir up roles with a passion
I make friends with passion
I take weekends with a passion
I love kissing with passion
I love teasing with a passion
I make love with passion
I take from above with a passion
If push comes to shove
Label me old fashioned
For these are things I caption
In life with all my passion
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poems Went Away
THE POEMS WENT AWAY
The poems went away.
Nothing inside.
An empty will for poetry
Forcing words on the page,
Words without music
Without resonance
Without great implication
Meaning.
Write, write, write
Lest you die.
And the words themselves
A kind of desperate uphill catching of breath
On the page.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Let Your Soul Sink In
I have a pad and pen
where to start, where to end?
Just pick it up,
and begin.
Let your soul sink in,
Let the words freely fly,
write with passion, touch the sky.
Write with red, the color of love,
write for the angels from above.
Close your eyes, imagine things,
let your thoughts grow special wings.
You have a pad and pen
where to start, where to end?
Just pick it up,
and begin.
Let your soul sink in,
Let your soul sink in!
poem by Marius Alexandru (14 December 2020)
Submitted by anonym
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Hidden Within
I write more on some days
than I do on others.
On those days there is an urgency
hidden within what I do.
I cannot explain it,
nor do I ever try.
I just sit down, write,
and write to my hearts content.
The pouring out of words
is something I have got used to.
I write wherever I am, at home,
in my car when I am not driving of course.
Walking along the street, even in my sleep.
My mind is always active
exploring new avenues,
laying waste to more words.
It is my way of life
and I would be lost without it.
I once gave up for six or seven years,
but its pull was always there.
It’s something I will never do again.
My legacy when I leave this world
will be within my words
and any good things I have done.
Hopefully, that won’t be
for a long, long time to come.
24 September 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Volcano Of Passion
As the passion builds inside, my heart beats faster
My mouth goes dry
My hands become clammy
My eyes widen in anticipation
Out comes a flow of words, a flow of meanings
A flow of thought and feelings
I can feel it growing inside me, waiting to burst out
I really just want to shout as the words flow out onto the page
Without any rage, just a desire, a passion
For my words to have their own stage
The volcano has erupted, the words flow
Yet when the dust settles, nobody but me knows whats happened
It's my very own volcano of passion
poem by Craig Piercy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Fear Through Words
It is through fear I write this
Through fear I dare not speak these words
Or name the muse of who I pen them to
I hold a gentle and honest love to my heart
Such a love as yet untried and unknown
What good are my words when I cannot speak them
To my muse so beautiful so sweet, so divine
I fear I may lose them so completely
That I stay silent, bide my words so well
And watch with abject despair
My muse, object of my whole desire
Grow more distant with each passing day
And I fear I may lose all together
By speaking these words, these cursed words
I asked myself once, what I search for
Is it what I want or what I need in life
And there I saw my muse, a world of beauty
More than I could imagine or ask for
A gentle heart and loving nature
Those warm soothing eyes I look to
Do not see me as I would wish
I fear if they were to, see my innermost soul
My passion and my love for them
They would turn away and be lost completely
Which is why I write with fear
These words I dare not speak
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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